


Baking with the Stars

by sweetsoutherncuisine



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: AU, Baker!Bitty, Baking, Fluff, Ice Skating, Kitchen Flirting, M/M, just lots of oblivious flirting ok????
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-05-29 13:09:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15073847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetsoutherncuisine/pseuds/sweetsoutherncuisine
Summary: In this alternate universe, Eric Bittle still started out as a figure skater, created his video blog, went to Samwell, and joined the hockey team. Meanwhile, Jack wound up at a small school in Montreal instead of Samwell before going pro and signing on with the Falcs. Eric's over the moon when he learns that Jack Zimmermann is going to be his celebrity partner on this ridiculous baking competition show—this will not, of course, stop him from chirping Jack relentlessly in the kitchen.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I came across an old Ngozi tweet with a Check, Please! AU idea, and no one had written it yet, so alas, the burden has been placed upon me. Expect silliness and fluff out the wazoo. This started out as a quick little one-shot but if folks like it I guess I could write more?? Who knows!
> 
> PLEASE ENJOY
> 
> Edit: ok so I planned for this to be a one-shot because I wasn't sure I'd have enough free time to devote to a long fic - but I had so much extra notes left over and everyone is being really sweet and enthusiastic, so I ended up drafting up a full outline to see just what I might be getting myself into...and...well, long story short, y'all are getting 7 chapters minimum and maybe an epilogue??  
> (/¯◡ ‿ ◡)/¯ ~ ┻━┻

Isn't it what all successful people say, that the paths they took in life were never the ones they expected? That they had goals and plans but the universe, or fate, or God, just had something different in store for them? It was a feeling with which Eric was becoming well-acquainted. After all, honestly, who on earth started a silly video blog on the internet and thought, "Yes indeed! This will become my livelihood!" Ridiculous. Yet here he was, barely a year out of college, and his baking vlog had become so popular that he'd been recruited as a "celebrity chef" for some new Food Network show, _Baking With the Stars_. Who, Eric Bittle? A celebrity? Hilarious. And yet, apparently, an actual fact of his life.

It was wildly different from what he did on his own. Sure, over the years he'd bumped up the quality of his videos—buying nicer cameras for better visuals and multiple angles, setting up lighting and sound equipment, brushing up his editing skills—but it was nothing like being on an actual, honest-to-goodness television set! He was a touch starstruck, and more so out of his depth. Especially considering the _actual_ celebrity chefs he had to compete against in this danged thing. The first time Eric met them all was for a production meeting to get them up to speed on the details of the show, and he'd immediately held up a pad of paper and proclaimed, "I'm so sorry, y'all, but I gotta get this outta the way now or I'll never forgive myself—I need _all_ of your autographs!"

Bless their hearts, every one of them signed a page.

Eric was ninety-nine percent certain that he had only been chosen for this competition as an oddity. The "internet" chef. The producers and the other chefs were all perfectly kind to him, but it seemed that every conversation regarding his participation on the show had an air of brevity. They didn't expect him to last long. Well, alright, neither did he! But he had to admit, it did ignite a certain determination to prove himself; after all, what could be better television than an internet star competing on even footing with a bunch of seasoned pros?

Now, of course, the real handicap was...well, the stars. That _was_ the gimmick of the darned thing, now wasn't it? It was really more their competition than the chefs'.

"So Eric," the executive producer had told him with a smile, "we actually have a really exciting celebrity athlete coming onto the show. We've heard that you're a big hockey fan, so we figured this would be a fun pairing. For you we've got Jack Zimmermann from the Providence Falconers."

Eric had screamed on the spot.

They had three weeks to teach their partners basic cooking techniques, which of course would be filmed, and then there would be four rounds in the competition (it was the first season so the studio hadn't green-lighted more than a few episodes). It turned out to be a sort of mix between _Dancing_ _w_ _ith the Stars_ and _MasterChef_. No, really, they got the judges from _MasterChef_. Eric had been sure to bring his pad of paper again when meeting them. He was seriously considering getting Gordon Ramsay's autograph framed.

Now here he was at last, straightening up the kitchen with the camera crew already rolling, and just like that, in walked his partner. Lord—to be in the same room with Jack Zimmermann. To teach Jack Zimmermann _how to cook_. It felt like a dream.

"Jack Zimmermann! Oh my Lord, you haven't the _faintest_ idea how excited I am to meet you!" Eric exclaimed, rushing over to shake his hand. Jack seemed stiff and quiet, and Eric recognized the tight smile that he'd seen on him in dozens of post-game interviews. Oh dear. Well, maybe Jack would loosen up a bit after three weeks of Eric's nonsense in the kitchen.

"Euh—hi, yeah. Sorry, I really don't," Jack replied sheepishly, though his smile warmed slightly. "But it's definitely nice to meet you...Eric, right?"

"Oh my—yes, that's me, Eric Bittle. Please forgive me, I must be completely embarrassing us both, but I'm just so starstruck. Do you know, I was there in the stadium when you made that _clutch_ game-winner for the Stanley Cup two years ago?" Eric babbled, a flush rising high and bright on his cheeks.

"No, I didn't know," Jack said in surprise, seeming to relax at the mention of something hockey-related. "So you're a hockey fan, eh?"

"Lord, yes! I even played in college. I adored it. If I were half a foot taller, I might have considered going pro." It was difficult to decipher Jack's expression at this moment. Shocked? Impressed? Maybe a bit relieved? "Well, in any case, unfortunately this show isn't about hockey," he said quickly, moving things right along, "so Jack, why don't you tell me about your cooking experience?"

"Um...I can steam rice. And vegetables. And use a frying pan."

This poor boy. Bless.

"Oh honey, don't you worry. I've never met a hockey player who knew how to feed himself. Lucky for you, I spent four years in a frat house teaching an entire team of them how to do just that. You're in good hands." He winked and motioned for Jack to join him on a tour of the kitchen. "Honestly, I'm just going to drill the basics into you as much as possible so that you'll be able to know where you can get creative and where you shouldn't—I know these judges like the creativity, but Lord, with competitions like these they're always trying to get you folks to run before you can walk," he prattled as he walked Jack through the items in the cupboards and pantry, pausing when he caught the blank, helpless look on Jack's face. "Oh my goodness, there is _no_ need to look so nervous. You'll catch on quick, we've got plenty of time to practice together, and I've even made a little packet to help you study."

"You...made me a study guide?" Jack asked, a grin slowly spreading across his face.

"Well—I mean—I wanted to help you feel prepared, and it would be useful if you wanted to practice at home, it really didn't take hardly any time to whip up except for organizing everything properly and getting it all printed out, and of course I thought some pictures might be useful so I...what?" Eric asked, flustered by the expression on Jack's face.

"Haha. Nothing. You're just...I dunno. I like your enthusiasm." Jack shrugged, glancing away sheepishly.

"Oh—well, thank you," Eric replied, pleased and yet caught off guard. He hadn't expected a compliment like that from Jack. There was a sudden, long silence. Eric scrambled to think of how to break the awkward tension. "...would you like to learn how to make an apple pie?" he asked. Jack visibly relaxed almost immediately and gave him a grateful smile.

"Yes," he agreed easily, "I would like that."

Eric beamed and went right to work. In no time at all he'd pulled out a slew of ingredients and was showing Jack how to cut butter into flour. He had to work hard to stifle a laugh at the baffled look on Jack's face, talking him through, explaining how the butter chunks would be what made his pie crust extra flaky and delicious. They were making a double crust pie, so he gently walked Jack through forming the dough, halving it, and storing one half in the fridge to chill.

"Merde, and here I thought you'd start me out making something easy," Jack muttered as he struggled to roll out the other half of his dough.

"You're doing just fine," Eric replied soothingly, "look, see? Just lay down some more flour—perfect, and on the rolling pin and your hands, yup, don't be shy about it. Baking is messy, you may as well dive right in."

Jack huffed softly, looking unconvinced. "You make it sound so easy, and then I try to do it and...this happens." He gestured down at the counter, making Eric laugh.

"Sweetheart, you've never done this before! You can't expect perfection. I've done this about a million times and I surely don't. Just do your best and let things fall where they may." Eric patted Jack's shoulder, brushing some flour off his sleeve with a smile, and helped him patch up a few tiny rips in the dough.

It was fascinating to him, finding out just how much of a perfectionist Jack was. He certainly hadn't expected him to get so worked up over a bit of finicky pie dough. This competition asked for some effort, sure, but it was just for fun in the end. Well, he thought as he brought Jack a pie tin, it was only the first day. If this all amounted to nothing else, he felt confident that they could at _least_ accomplish fun by the time they got through this darned thing.

"Don't be nervous **—** you have that look on your face again," he warned with a grin, "I'm going to teach you a foolproof method to get that dough in the tin without ripping or stretching it. Well, alright, it's not _foolproof_ , but it's the closest we'll get and you're a smart boy."

"I'm a couple years older than you, you know," Jack replied, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Eric's grin widened. That was the spirit.

"Alright, excuse me, you're a smart _man_ who is more than capable of putting pie dough in a tin."

For the first time since walking into the kitchen, Jack really laughed, open and genuine. "Fair enough. So what's this foolproof method?"

Eric positively glowed and handed Jack the rolling pin. "So roll the dough around the pin," he murmured, smiling, "yes, exactly, that's _perfect_. Now see how easy it is to pick it up?"

"Yeah, actually," Jack replied, which had Eric snorting a laugh.

"You sound so surprised!"

"I am, a little," Jack admitted with a sheepish grin, "not that I don't trust your expertise." Was it Eric's imagination or was there some pink in Jack's cheeks?

"Now don't overthink this," Eric started, biting back a laugh when Jack immediately raised an eyebrow at him. "I mean it, mister! Just unroll it right on over the tin. That's all there is to it."

"That's it?" Jack echoed dubiously. Eric nodded encouragingly. Jack sighed and hesitantly held out the rolling pin over the tin. Wincing slightly, he slowly unrolled the dough until it was sitting somewhat lopsided but successfully inside the tin.

"Did it hurt that much?" Eric asked, highly amused.

"Ha ha," Jack replied dryly.

"My Lord, you are a drama queen," Eric chirped, gently nudging the dough to sit more fully inside the tin while Jack snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. "And look, you see? It's just fine. If something isn't quite how you like it, you can always tweak it until you get it there. You could even roll the dough back onto the pin and try again if it didn't land where you wanted the first time. And with anything in baking, there's nothing wrong with starting over, so long as you've got the time." He glanced over his shoulder at Jack, who looked oddly thoughtful.

"Do you ever mess up? In the kitchen?"

"Oh my goodness, _constantly_!" Eric admitted easily, not expecting the shocked look on Jack's face.

"But...I mean...you're, you know. A professional." Jack at least had the humility to look embarrassed as those words came out of his mouth.

"Well, yes, I suppose I am," Eric replied with a shrug, leaning back against the counter, "but even professionals aren't perfect. Sometimes you just don't know how things are going to go. Some days it's humid and your flour wants to clump no matter how much you sift it, or your butter will melt too quickly, or maybe your oven is running hotter than usual. Some days just feel off no matter what you do. You never know if you're going to measure something wrong by accident while you're wondering whether you remembered to preheat the oven, or trip and spill something, or who knows, maybe once in a blue moon things go exactly as planned. But when they don't...well, you can either give up or find a way to make it work."

There was a poignant silence then, with Jack just looking at him like...well, Eric didn't know what exactly to make of that expression. He cleared his throat. "Well. In any case, we ought to get this chilled in the fridge. We want the dough as cold as possible before it goes in the oven and we still have filling to make."

While he put away the dough, he called out the ingredients Jack needed for the filling and had him fetch them out of the pantry that he'd shown him through earlier. Jack was quiet as he set everything out on the counter, and he seemed much more comfortable now that he wasn't doing anything that required finesse. Eric was just rummaging in a drawer for a knife to peel their apples with when Jack suddenly spoke up.

"It's like hockey."

Eric blinked. "...what's like hockey?" he asked, puzzled.

"Oh—euh—what you said before. That things don't go the way you plan, but...you've still gotta win the game, you know?"

Eric couldn't help but smile, finding the knife he was looking for and pulling out a small cutting board as well. "I ought to just talk in hockey analogies from now on," he teased lightly, pleased to hear Jack chuckle at that.

"I've heard that once or twice," Jack said, keeping a completely straight face despite the glint in his eye.

"So what's winning the game mean today, then?" Eric asked curiously. Jack hummed thoughtfully, holding up one of the apples as if he were inspecting it closely.

"Making a pie that's edible?" he suggested.

"Oh honey," Eric replied reassuringly, "give us some credit. Between the two of us, we'll manage far better than edible." He winked and plucked the apple out of Jack's hand. "Ever peeled an apple?"

"No," Jack said simply.

"I think you'll like this part. I think it's kinda fun," Eric admitted, "it's actually easier to peel apples with a little knife than a peeler. Look—you just dig in the edge a bit and...spin!" He turned the apple in his hand until he had a long, curly spiral of apple skin piled on the countertop. Jack seemed mesmerized, shaking his head as he watched.

"You make all of it look so easy," he murmured.

"And _you_ make those flawless one-timers of yours look so easy, remind me how many of those you sent into the net this past season?" Eric replied slyly, setting the knife in front of Jack on the counter and handing him a new apple. Jack's mouth twisted with uncertainty but he picked up the knife and gave it a try. It wasn't quite as smooth as Eric's peel had been, and he had to pick up the knife readjust a few times, but soon enough all the peel from his apple was sitting on the counter beside Eric's. Better yet, while his expression was serious and focused, it thankfully didn't look pained or tortured this time.

"There you are, Jack Zimmermann. You've officially, successfully peeled an apple," Eric declared proudly, "and now you get to peel seven more." Jack laughed, and it was a truly welcome sound to his ears.

"I guess I will be getting plenty of practice at this, eh?"

"Oh goodness, yes. You haven't the slightest clue how many apples I've peeled in my life!"

"No," Jack agreed as he got to work on another apple. Eric worked hard to stifle a laugh. He was learning quickly that Jack wasn't trying to be brusque with his answers, he was just exceedingly direct and honest. It was sort of cute.

Oh no. Oh dear. This was not the time nor the place to let a celebrity crush get the better of him, no sir. He busied himself by finding another knife and helping Jack finish peel apples—"Just this once, so we can get to baking," he told Jack, hoping he didn't look too flustered—and then teaching him the best way to core and slice the apples with the same knife. It didn't help that Jack was a diligent, attentive student—that only made Eric find him even more endearing.

"So...what is the lemon for?" Jack asked, poking at the ingredients they'd be tossing their apple slices in.

"Oh! Well, a couple of things, actually," Eric replied, more than happy to chatter away about something to distract himself, "the first thing it does is keep our apples from oxidizing—which is just a fancy way of saying 'turning brown once they're exposed to the air'—and then it also adds a bit of tart flavor so that our pie doesn't get _too_ sweet. We want just the right amount of sweetness, not too much or too little."

"That...makes sense."  
  
"Good Lord, would you stop sounding so shocked that I know what I'm doing?" Eric exclaimed, laughing while Jack's ears turned red. Darn him for being so adorable.

"Sorry," Jack said quickly, "that's not—I don't mean—I'm not trying to—"

Eric shushed him gently when he began to stutter too long. "I'm only teasing you, sweetheart. It's fine. Why don't we get all this tossed together in our mixing bowl? No secret tricks for that, just mix it up real good." Jack just nodded, inexplicably still looking somewhat embarrassed. Fortunately, mixing up the filling proved to be a perfect distraction for him, and he actually wound up with a soft smile on his face as he poured the filling into the chilled crust. He even looked intrigued while Eric explained how dotting the filling with butter enhanced its flavor and taught him how to whisk up a quick egg wash that would hold their top and bottom crusts together. He brushed it over the rim of the bottom crust with adorable newfound confidence and by then the mood of the room had lightened considerably.

"Now we have to roll out the rest of your dough—I know, I know, but you've done it once before so it'll be easy now," Eric said encouragingly.

"And this will just...go over the top?" Jack asked as he set the remaining dough on the countertop to roll out.

"Yup! Just try to keep the thickness consistent like before, you don't need to be too precise with the shape. We want it to drape over the edge a bit and we'll just cut off the excess."

"Isn't that...kind of a waste?"

"Oh, not really. It's usually hardly enough dough to make anything out of it. But I suppose if you're someone who really loves a good pie crust—and trust me, I do—then it might break your heart a little to give up even a little of that flaky goodness," Eric replied teasingly.

"Ha—ok," Jack said, smiling even though his forehead was slightly crinkled with bewilderment. Without even being told, Jack rolled his dough up onto the rolling pin and draped it over his pie like a pro. Eric pressed his hand to his heart, positively beaming. He stepped in to show Jack how much overhang to leave after trimming, and how to crimp the edges with a fork, biting back a grin at the expression of sheer concentration on Jack's face when it was his turn to try. Eric had him brush more egg wash over the top of the crust and sprinkle it with sugar, and then there was just one last step before the oven.

"Now we're going to just cut some vents in the top. A simple step, but so important! While a pie is baking, the filling will get hot enough to boil and create steam—so we need vents to make sure our crust doesn't rupture or get soggy from all that hot moisture, and it also keeps our filling from over-baking. I usually make five little slits, about two inches long or so, in a circle in the center."

"Um," Jack said as he slowly cut his vents into the top crust, "I like that you explain everything. I mean, why I have to do things a certain way. Like, I never would have known that these are important. I always just thought they were for decoration."  
  
"Oh, well! I mean, you could make some beautiful decorative vents, but yes, they're very important," Eric replied, flushing lightly as he dodged the compliment. "In any case, I have to teach you how to be creative with these things by the time the competition starts, you know? So you've got to know what you can and can't change."

"See? That makes so much sense," Jack said with a shrug, setting his knife down. "I can see why they chose you for this."

"Oh—goodness—well," Eric stuttered, turning toward the oven to hide his blush under the pretense of checking that it was done preheating. "Why don't we put that pie in the oven and see how it turns out, hmm?" he suggested cheerfully, letting Jack do the honors since, "it's the best part other than taking it back out again, and you worked so hard on it!"

"So, now what?" Jack asked as he closed the oven door.

"Now we set a timer for about twenty minutes—if the crust has started to brown, then we turn down the oven temperature to 350 degrees and set another timer for another twenty-five minutes or so."

"That's...a long time."

"Ha, I guess," Eric replied with a chuckle, "but luckily I've come prepared. Are you hungry?"

"Starving," Jack said without hesitation. Of course. He was a hockey player, after all.

"D'you like peanut butter and jelly?" Eric asked, heading for the pantry.

"Oh—yeah, it's, uh, my favorite," Jack admitted quietly, a tiny smile on his face. "I always have one before a game."

"Well, then you are in for a treat!" Eric declared, returning to the counter with a loaf of bread and two mason jars. He hadn't had a clue about Jack's pregame sandwich ritual, just thinking that it would be something simple and classic, but he couldn't help feeling pleased that he'd happened to choose a lunch that meant something special to Jack. "Strictly speaking, it's not really peanut butter and jelly," he confessed, "it's maple-almond butter and blueberry-rhubarb preserves. But it's close enough." He winked, slicing them some bread and assembling their sandwiches in the blink of an eye.

"Did you... _make_ all of this?" Jack asked in amazement. "The bread, too?"

"I did indeed," Eric told him, delighted, and hopped up to sit on the counter to enjoy his lunch. A gorgeous, high-budget kitchen this might be but the fool who designed it hadn't thought to put in a small dining area. Honestly, what went through these people's heads? It was kind of nice to be closer to eye-level with Jack, though, not that he'd ever say such a thing out loud.

Jack picked up a sandwich, looking equal parts impressed and curious. He took a bite and his eyes widened. " _Crisse_ ," he mumbled under his breath, staring at the sandwich, then at Eric. "That's...one of the best things I've ever eaten."

"I'm glad you like it," Eric said demurely, knowing that his cheeks must be glowing pink.

It was quiet for a while then. They were both hungry, and hunger plus delicious food always made for terrible conversation. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, though. Jack seemed somewhat drained, noticeably enough that for once Eric decided to let them enjoy their lunch in peace instead of filling the void with idle chitchat. He hadn't thought apple pie would be such a strenuous task, but then he remembered Jack's awkwardness whenever he was confronted with a camera and wondered if maybe the constant filming was too strenuous for him. He could probably talk to the producers about limiting the behind-the-scenes filming for Jack, minimize it, especially on days when they would just be practicing basics...

"What position did you play?"

"What?" Eric asked, having missed whatever track Jack's train of thought had jumped to.

"Euh...when you played hockey. What position?"

"Oh! Right wing." Eric smiled wistfully. He missed playing. He missed the ice. He missed his boys. Sure, he still made time to visit Samwell whenever he could, but it just wasn't the same.

"That makes sense," Jack said thoughtfully, "you're so small, you were probably the fastest guy on the ice, eh?"

"I am a perfectly average height, thank you very much!" Eric replied dryly, knowing full well that the average height of people was completely different from the average height of hockey players and ignoring the hell out of it. "But yes. I was. I wasn't half bad, you know, once I knew how to take a check."

Jack nodded sympathetically, picking absentmindedly at the crust of his sandwich. "Yeah, even for us, euh, bigger guys it can be tough. Did you get injured a lot?"

"Not a _lot_ ," Eric replied with a chuckle, quickly catching the worried look on Jack's face and patting his shoulder to reassure him that he wasn't offended. Lord, but this poor boy seemed to love the taste of foot for how often he put it in his mouth. "Actually, only one real injury. I got hip-checked my freshman year and went flying, landed on my head." Jack winced, and Eric shrugged. "It was thankfully a mild concussion."

"I've never gotten separated from the ice like that, but I've seen it. And I get slammed into the boards pretty much constantly," Jack told him with a wry smile. "So how did you do it? I mean, learn how to take a check?"

"Oh, well, we had this fantastic pair of d-men who became our alternate captains the year after that happened," Eric explained, more than happy to brag about his teammates, "they coached me, got me used to it, taught me how to skate through. Those boys really saved my sorry behind. If it weren't for them, I don't know that I would have lasted through the end of that year, let alone the rest of my college career!"

"So...what, they just checked you for an hour straight every day?" Jack asked, amused but impressed.

"Something like that," Eric said with a laugh, "I hated every moment of it, but it really did make me a better player."

"Haha. Did you ever say which school you played for?"

"Oh—I'm not sure that I did! I went to Samwell University, in Massachusetts?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know that place. My mom's an alumni, actually, she...euh...hmm," Jack said, slowly trailing off. Eric shifted awkwardly while Jack just stared at him for a long moment. Eric swore he could see the gears turning in his head. What on earth...?

" _Bittle_. Gosh, that's right. I can't believe I didn't put it all together," Jack muttered, shaking his head, still staring. "Number fifteen. Small, speedy guy. I remember you."

"What?!" Eric squawked, nearly dropping his sandwich on the floor.

"Ha, yeah," Jack said sheepishly, "I didn't follow college hockey so much anymore, but I definitely remember the year that Samwell won the NCAA tournament. I'd put on ESPN in the evening and every game they played, it was like clockwork, the announcers were talking about number fifteen."

"Oh dear Lord," Eric groaned, mortified. "The boys made me stop watching those news segments after the first few aired. What on earth did they say?"

"Mostly, um, that you were an unusual choice for captain," Jack told him kindly, "they thought you were good when they weren't, euh..."

"...going on about the _miraculous_ victories coming from a team with the first openly gay captain in the NCAA?" Eric finished for him coolly.

"...yeah," Jack murmured apologetically.

"Well," Eric said simply after a beat of silence, " I think that timer's about to go off. Why don't we peek in on that pie?" Amazingly, and to Eric's relief, there was less than a minute left on the timer and Jack silently allowed the change of topic. Jumping down from the counter, he grabbed an oven mitt and opened up the oven. Pulling the baking rack out slightly for Jack to get a good look, he asked, "What do you think?"

"Um, it's kinda brown, right? So...now we turn the heat down?"

"To...?"

"...350 degrees?"

"Exactly. And how long to set the timer the second time?"

"Euh...twenty-five minutes."

"Perfect." Eric beamed. Now that the pie was in the last stages of baking, it seemed like as good a time as ever to show Jack the...oh, alright, it was a study guide. And not a bad one, if he did say so himself. There was a little table of contents and everything. Besides, it was an easy way to pass the time without either of them feeling awkward by talking more about hockey. It was sort of a shame but...well, now it would have been a conversation less about hockey and more about why Eric didn't play anymore, and he wasn't quite feeling up to that.

Jack was just puzzling over the difference between pie dough and tart dough when the timer went off. He deemed the pie officially ready, with Eric's seconded approval, and set it on cooling rack. "This is something I've always wondered about too," he mused, "what the cooling rack is for."

"Two things, pretty much," Eric replied, "the pan is still hot from the oven, so sitting on the rack helps it cool down faster—which is important because as long as it's hot, it's still technically baking your pie. Setting your pan somewhere it can't cool properly might accidentally over-bake it. The other reason is that you can't burn a cooling rack. I think the counter at the Haus at Samwell is still scorched from Chowder setting a hot pan onto it."

"Chowder?" Jack asked with a grin. "Hockey player?"

"However could you tell?" Eric teased. "Yes, we all had nicknames, just like you fellas in the big leagues."

"What was yours?"

Eric flushed lightly. "I will tell you, but only if you keep the chirping to a minimum."

"Oh, now I have to know. But I'll be nice, I promise." Jack's smile was sweet and encouraging.

"...Bitty," he told Jack with a sigh, "my nickname was Bitty." He watched with a mix of amusement and chagrin as a huge grin spread across Jack's face with the newfound information, broad and bright.

"That's cute," was all Jack said, clearly attempting to restrain himself. "Suits you."

"Thanks," Eric snorted, grinning back despite himself.

When the pie was finally cool enough to cut into, Eric searched around for a pair of plates and forks so that they could both taste it. He had high hopes, the kitchen smelled absolutely heavenly. Jack looked nervous, but the first slice held together beautifully as Eric cut it out and placed it on a plate. So did the second slice.

"The only tiny thing I would mention by sight alone," Eric commented thoughtfully, "is that the dough was slightly overworked. You've got some flakiness on top—which is great, it means your butter was probably at the right temperature and that it's not _too_ overworked—but it's a bit dense inside when we cut it, see? Not as many layers." He pointed to the edges of the crust where he'd cut out their slices. Jack seemed unhappy with the criticism, but Eric had a suspicion from the way he was studying the pie crust that the unhappiness was more with himself. Such a silly, sweet perfectionist. "Honestly, don't dwell on that too much," he told Jack kindly, "because otherwise...goodness, it really looks beautiful! I can just tell it's delicious and I haven't even tasted it yet. You should be so proud, Jack!"

Jack blushed deeply, pleased, and rubbed the back of his neck bashfully. "Thanks," he said quietly, with a smile that melted Eric's heart.

With that, they both tried a bite. Jack groaned, looking surprised and pleased, while Eric let out a delighted little hum. The filling was perfect. The crust was flaky, if a touch crumbly. For a first attempt, it was beyond respectable.

"Mr. Zimmermann, I think you may have an aptitude for this!" Eric teased lightly.

"Haha. Well. I have a great teacher."

Eric just glowed. Honestly, he hadn't expected Jack to do this well. If this was the kind of pie he could manage on the first day, even with Eric giving him precise instructions, they might really have a shot at this. Maybe it was silly to think of this as a competition for himself, that he needed the credibility or Lord knew what else, but he really just wanted to win. A small way to prove himself to the world. To show that he was doing something he loved and doing it well. And getting to spend more time with Jack Zimmermann by advancing in the competition didn't sound objectionable either.

"You go on and take that pie home with you," Eric told Jack, insistently pressing the wrapped-up leftovers into his hands, "better yet, share it with someone you want to show off to." He winked, pleased at the way it made Jack laugh.

"My nutritionist probably wouldn't let me eat it all anyway," Jack said with a shrug. "I'll, euh, make sure I keep this handy too, eh?" He held up his study guide with a grin.

"See that you do, I worked hard on that!"

"Haha. Then I definitely will."

This was clearly the signal that they were just about done for the day. That it was time to clean up and go home. It was just surprisingly difficult to say goodbye. Neither of them quite seemed to know how to do it.

"Oh!" Eric exclaimed as a thought occurred to him, "how does your nutritionist feel about those peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?"

"They're fine. He doesn't mind them. They've got some protein," Jack said with a shrug.

"Wait just one minute," Eric told him with a bright smile. He wrapped up the loaf of bread in its paper and gathered up the mason jars, putting them in a bag and promptly handing it to Jack. "You may as well have it. I really made it for you anyway," he admitted, fighting back a blush, "it wasn't any trouble." The grateful look on Jack's face was worth everything.

"Thanks," Jack told him warmly. His eyes seemed softer now, clearer and bluer, lingering on Eric's face. He still hovered by the door for another moment, hesitating, like he wanted to say something more. "Eum...this was fun," he said, simple yet sincere. "So...if I want to practice at home...is there a way I could ask you questions? You know, just in case?"

"I'll...give you my number," Eric said, trying to sound casual. There was no reason to read into that, it was a perfectly innocent question. He took Jack's phone and added himself as "Bitty" in the contacts list. Just so he would have Jack's number too, he sent himself a dumb emoji from Jack's phone and smiled as he handed it back. "Just text me whenever you need anything."

"I will," Jack said, smiling as he looked down at his phone. "Thanks, Bitty. I'll see you around, eh?"

"You certainly will," Eric replied, his voice a little loud and overly cheerful, flustered by the fondness in the way Jack said his nickname. Not exactly a smooth, camera-perfect goodbye, but it would have to do.

There was some final cleaning up to be done in the kitchen, which went by quickly enough, and then Eric just had to touch base with the production crew before he could go. They seemed happy with the footage they'd gotten today, which was a pleasant surprise since Eric had been sure that they'd been utterly awkward, and he did manage to mention to someone that he suspected Jack had a discomfort with the cameras. No promises were made, but it sounded like they wouldn't mind if there were a few days per week that didn't get filmed so long as they got what they needed. That would have to do.

Phew. What a long afternoon. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so worn out from just one pie. A pie that he hadn't even made, no less. Jack made that pie, he thought fondly. His heart started beating faster. Lord help him. He finally made it to his beat-up old Ford in the parking lot, ready to go home, and found himself just sitting there quietly for a long moment. He closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands.

Darn it. He liked Jack. Despite a few awkward, uncomfortable moments, he liked him. He wanted to text him about what he thought about today, who he was going to share his pie with, and oh good Lord he wanted to flirt with him until they were both laughing and blushing. Which was ridiculous since he was already anxious that he might have been flirting with Jack too much in the kitchen and he surely had to be straight, not to mention that there were _cameras_ in there! Ugh. He sighed deeply and took out his phone, opening Twitter and staring at the screen for a minute. Eventually, he just typed up a vague song lyric and called it day. It was only three weeks. Well, three weeks plus the competition. It wasn't a big deal. Just a celebrity crush. He could handle that. 

Probably.

* * *

 

 

> **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease
> 
> "I swore I'd never fall again, but this don't even feel like falling." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Fun fact: Lardo absolutely helped make Jack's baking study guide. ;D


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More baking. More chirping. More realizations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I said this was going to be a one-shot because I didn't think I had time to devote to a long fic?
> 
> ...
> 
> Yeah. Sorry for the delay. (^_^;) I mean, a part of it was also making this chapter, like...actually good! Everyone appreciates quality over speed, right?? But here it is at last. Please enjoy!!

None of this competition was what Jack had expected so far. Being a part of it at all, for one thing. When he'd first been asked, his immediate response had been to laugh and say, "No thanks, you probably want Tater for something like that, eh?" But Falconers PR had loved the idea and did everything they could to encourage him to try this dumb baking show. Something about an opportunity to make him seem more personable. He thought he was a terrible choice for this kind of thing but everyone he talked to disagreed. There was something about reality television and throwing hapless people into uncomfortable situations, apparently. Great–exactly what he was afraid of.

Surely his parents, at least, would understand how ridiculous this all was and take his side, right?

"Papa, you can't seriously—it's a gimmick!" Jack argued into the phone, dragging his fingers roughly through his hair.

"That's part of the fun of it, mon fils!" Bob replied with a laugh. "It's a harmless television show. Not even a long one. You'll learn a thing or two that might be useful at Christmas and you might even have a good time."

"But...but what if I'm terrible at it?"

"Then it's over sooner for you and your mother and I get to have a good laugh?"

" _Papa_!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Bob said, chuckling and not sounding the least bit apologetic, "but really, Jack, no one's going to be shocked if a hockey player doesn't have a knack for baking. The stakes are really quite low here. And I honestly think something like this, something fun and meaningless, it might be good for you."

"...what if I won't have time to train?"

"It's the off-season, Jack. You'll have plenty of time."

Begrudgingly, Jack had gotten back in touch with the producer who'd first contacted him and let him know that he was willing. He wasn't fully convinced that doing the show was a good idea, but he'd at least been persuaded that it couldn't hurt him.

Then there was the chef they'd paired him with—Eric Bittle. Young, "internet famous," and not at all the kind of person Jack had been anticipating. All the other chefs were in their thirties or older and had at least some kind of show on cable television. Eric just had a...what was it called, a video blog? He couldn't help but feel more and more that these people were just trying to make him look like an idiot.

Except he finally met Eric and...alright, maybe this show wouldn't be so bad. Eric was extremely energetic and talkative and, to Jack's immense relief, also turned out to be knowledgeable, patient, and kind. And Eric liked hockey.

In fact, Eric was good at hockey. Or had been, when he'd played in college. Once Jack had realized who he was, why he'd seemed so familiar, he hadn't been able to stop himself from looking up all the old news clips that he'd barely paid attention to before.

Speedy number fifteen. First openly gay captain in the NCAA. Crisse, probably the first openly gay hockey player, period. Again, it wasn't like Jack had followed it all that closely; mostly he remembered hearing the "commentary" about Eric and feeling a combination of anger at the ignorance and relief that it wasn't him. If anything, it had just solidified his decision to wait before coming out—or maybe not coming out at all. After all, Eric was baking now, not playing hockey. Didn't that say enough about the whole thing?

Although who knew, maybe it wasn't entirely related; Eric was definitely at least as good at baking as he'd been at hockey, as far as Jack could tell. Spending so much time with him in a kitchen made that abundantly clear—and it really was a _lot_ of time.

Every day, for about four or five hours, Jack went to the filming location to work with Eric in the kitchen. The first couple days left him feeling overwhelmed and exhausted, but by the end of the first week he was actually starting to feel more confident. It helped that production cut back on the B-roll footage they were going to shoot and gave them some space every couple of days. And yes, he would admit, much of his improvement was at least partly due to actually using the study guide Eric had made for him. It was helpful and had nice pictures.

Now, into week three, Jack actually looked forward to hanging out with Eric. His usual idea of fun was hockey. Maybe taking the camera his dad had bought him out to the park where he liked to run or watching documentaries. Definitely not baking. But Eric just seemed to know how to get him out of his head, to make him stop worrying, to make him laugh at his mistakes before he had a chance to agonize over them instead.

Which wasn't to say that he still didn't, every so often.

"I think I hate dough," Jack stated flatly, staring down at the gunk in front of him with disdain.

"But you made the most beautiful wheat bread yesterday!" Eric exclaimed, sounding scandalized. "And your pie crusts have been turning out so lovely!"

"Yeah..." Jack admitted reluctantly, poking at the glob on the counter. He was supposed to separate it into four baguettes but it had become so sticky that he didn't have a clue how to touch it anymore.

"Honestly," Eric huffed, putting his hands on his hips, "you're always so critical. Do you do this on the ice, too? Lord, I can just imagine. 'Oh boy, I fell out of formation in practice today, I think I hate this play.'"

Jack snorted a laugh at Eric's dubious attempt at his accent. "Not exactly," he replied, though he was smiling now. "With hockey it's more like...if it's terrible, then I just have to keep doing it until I get it right."

Eric raised an eyebrow at him, mouth quirked into an amused smile. "Goodness me, I wonder where else such a logic could apply?"

"Alright, ok, I get it," Jack said, chuckling despite the part of him that still kind of wanted to be grouchy. It was just getting to him again, that itchy feeling of knowing he wasn't doing his best. Or worse, that this _was_ his best and it wasn't good enough. Which was ridiculous, at least here, because he wasn't _supposed_ to be great at this, he was allowed to be terrible. In fact, the producers would probably prefer it if he spiraled out of control. If he let them set him up for failure, let them overwhelm him, let everyone see the way he'd fall apart just from trying to bake a cake. It would just give them all a good show. He blinked when he suddenly felt a warm touch to the back of his hand.

"Jack, honey?" Eric said softly, looking concerned. "It's just bread, sweetheart. Maybe we ought to take an early day."

"No," Jack said quickly, a light flush rising on his cheeks, "euh, no, it's fine. I'm fine." He'd been getting lost in his head more lately. Letting his thoughts get away from him. That wasn't unusual for him in the off season. Even though he trained at the rink every morning, he just missed hockey. He missed doing the one thing he _knew_ he was good at, despite the doubts the crept into his head off the ice. Once he was out there, playing, everything always seemed so clear.

"No," he said again, more confidently this time, "we're almost done. I can do this." He caught a brief glimpse of Eric beaming with pride and wondered vaguely why that made him blush in a completely different way.

To give the baking stuff some credit, it did seem to help Jack process his thoughts in a different way than hockey did. It gave his hands something to do, occupied his brain. Sort of like what running did for him sometimes. That was part of why the past few days had been frustrating, actually. Jack was doing more thinking than he really wanted to, at least with cameras and Eric around. It was also why he'd started practicing at home more, like Eric suggested. It helped, but moments like these kept cropping up anyway.

Almost like magic, Eric flitted around covering everything in flour—the dough, his hands, the counter—and unstuck his dough with the scraper like it was the easiest thing in the world, all while chattering away about how to avoid whatever he'd managed to do in the future. That was probably the thing Jack admired most about Eric—nothing ever fazed him. His brain always seemed to be working toward solutions instead of getting stuck in the problems.

"Do you...still skate?" he asked Eric as he finally got the loaves in the oven, not quite sure where the question had come from. He almost wondered if it was a mistake to ask, judging by the startled look on Eric's face.

"Oh—well—" Eric replied, clearly caught off guard, "I do, actually. I go to the public rink pretty regularly. I guess I just don't feel like myself if I'm not on the ice for a while. You might relate?" His tone was teasing but gentle.

"Ha. Yeah, I definitely relate," Jack agreed with a smile. There was an unusual beat of silence then. Not an uncomfortable silence, just a notable one. A thought slowly formed in Jack's head and he found himself asking, "Do you have anyone to skate with?" He pretended to look very busy picking at a patch of dried dough on his apron, avoiding whatever expression was on Eric's face.

"Not at the moment. Do you?" Again, Eric sounded amused.

"Euh—not really," Jack murmured with a shrug, "you know, off season. Everyone kind of trains whenever they want. Sometimes we end up at the rink at the same time, sometimes not. We'll start up training camp before the summer ends, though, and then we'll have regular practice again."

"Jack?"

"Hmm?" Jack finally looked up, relieved to see Eric smiling fondly at him.

"Are you trying to ask me to skate with you?"

Jack fought back a blush and shrugged. That wasn't what he was doing...was it? Except he didn't want to say no because, well...he was curious to know what Eric's answer might be.

"Goodness! And here I was thinking about it all this time, too afraid to ask!" Eric exclaimed with a laugh, cheeks looking pinker than usual. "I didn't want to be _that_ fan, you know?"

"Oh." Why did that feel strangely disappointing? It wasn't like Jack didn't know Eric was a fan. It was just...was that the only reason Eric wanted to go? Pushing the bizarre feeling aside, he shrugged again and said, "Let's do it."

"Go skating together? Really?"

"I mean...if you want to..."

"I _definitely_ want to!" Eric exclaimed in a rush, cheeks flushed. "Jack, oh my Lord, it would be a dream come true."

A dream come true? That was definitely an exaggeration. It had to be. Even if it did manage to make a smile tug at the corners of Jack's mouth. "What are you doing after this?" he asked.

"Well," Eric said slowly, smiling as he smoothed out his apron, "it sounds like I might have plans to go skating."

Jack grinned.

In the end, the bread turned out pretty unappetizing. Not inedible, but not good either. It was definitely the worst thing Jack had made so far. It was weirdly heavy, hard as a rock on the outside and dense on the inside.

"You've just overkneaded it," Eric told him, completely unfazed, "it must be those hockey muscles—you don't know your own strength! We'll work on how to avoid that next time."

Jack was still a little discouraged but Eric didn't give him any more time to dwell on it by putting a sponge and a bottle of soap in his hands. He was grateful for the distraction. They scrubbed the kitchen spotless and tossed out the bread. It was almost like the whole thing had never happened.

"Well, there we are! Time sure flew by, didn't it?" Eric asked, pausing for a moment before adding, "Still want to go skating?" His tone came out uncharacteristically shy.

"I was the one who asked you, you know," Jack told him, amused. "But yeah. We can go to our rink, if you want."

"Our rink...?" Eric gave him a confused look.

"Oh. I mean, you know. The Falconers' rink."

"Oh!"

"If you want."

"Jack!"

"We don't have to, it's just, I can't really get much skating done at a public rink..."

"Why on _earth_ would I ever refuse an offer like that?!" Eric exclaimed excitedly, practically vibrating with excitement. Jack just laughed softly, glad that it was settled so quickly.

Eric had to do some small business with the production crew, and they both had to go home, change, and grab their skates, but they'd meet at the rink in about half an hour. Easy. Jack was honestly really looking forward to this. Well, ok, he was always looking forward to getting on the ice, but he hadn't skated just for fun in a long time. Plus, he had to admit, he was dying to see Eric's speed in person after watching all those old game clips.

It was funny—Jack hadn't really been planning on asking Eric to hang out with him but he was kind of glad that it was happening. He'd learned a lot of information about Eric in the past two weeks—that he was from Georgia; that he was a figure skater before switching to hockey; that he had a video series about a family jam feud—but it felt like they still hadn't really gotten to know each other. He was curious to find out what Eric was like outside of the kitchen. Still bright and bubbly and confident? Jack himself knew how different he was on the ice versus off. In a game he was bold, self-assured, authoritative. In normal life, he was quiet and mild. Boring, according to most people. And he kinda wanted to know about the "boring" side of Eric, when he wasn't whipping up pies like magic. If he had any dumb hobbies like Jack and his photography.

And just like that, while Jack was parking at the rink, it dawned on him that this was their final week together before the competition started. That they might not see much of each other during the actual competition and after that...who knew? It was a surprisingly unsettling thought. He frowned, shaking it off, and grabbed his skate bag from the passenger seat. This was dumb. Besides, Eric was a Falconers fan who lived in Boston—he was sure to see him at a game or two.

Just as Jack was stepping out of his car, an old pickup truck rolled into the space beside him. Surely that wasn't Eric's...? Yes, it definitely was. There he was, waving cheerfully from the driver's seat. Jack worked hard to bite back a grin; he was not successful.

"Alright mister, you wipe that look off your face. I know she's not a glamorous sportscar but she takes me where I need to go," Eric huffed in mock indignation, grinning as he slung his skate bag over his shoulder.

"No, no—it's just—unexpected," Jack said, laughing. "It doesn't seem like your style."

"Hmm, no, maybe not. Although with shoes like those, I think I'll take advice from you about style with a grain of salt," Eric replied, raising an appraising eyebrow.

Jack looked down at his shoes, puzzled. They were just his normal yellow sneakers. He didn't see anything wrong with them. Eric, meanwhile, was doing a bad job of hiding a grin behind his hand.

"C'mon," he said with a shrug, "I'll let us in." He unlocked the door and held it open for Eric, grinning at the stunned look on his face as he walked inside. "You really are a fan, eh?" he teased lightly, motioning with his shoulder for Eric to follow him.

"You shush! You get to come and skate here all the time!" Eric exclaimed, flushed. His expression turned wistful the moment they stepped into the locker room. He went to sit on an empty bench, looking around for a moment before pulling out his skates. "I never thought I'd get to skate somewhere like this..." he murmured.

Somewhere like this? Did Eric mean...a professional rink? So Eric really had wanted to go pro? Jack had so many questions and he was sure that all of them would hit a little too close to home. So instead he just sat down next to Eric and said, "Well...keep in touch. We can do this again whenever you're in town."

"Really?!" Eric straightened up in a flash, eyes wide and amazed. "Jack, I—that's so kind of you! Do you really mean it?"

"Well, yeah," Jack said awkwardly, not sure what was so unbelievable about it. "It's not any trouble." He finished fastening his skates, standing up to make sure they felt right. Good. He hadn't bothered to bring pads or anything. This was just for fun, after all.

"Ready?" he asked when he saw Eric stand up, tapping his skates on the floor. Eric nodded, looking satisfied. "Alright. C'mon." He smiled over his shoulder at Eric, whose enthusiasm and excitement was infectious, and led the way out to the rink.

Stepping out onto the ice, Eric was unusually quiet but the way he was smiling made him seem to glow. He glided along the wall slowly, almost like he still wasn't sure he was really allowed to skate here. Jack followed, his longer stride putting him ahead of Eric easily, and spun around into a backwards skate so he could grin at him.

"It's just a rink, Bittle," he said, amused.

"Chirp, chirp, chirp, Mr. Zimmermann," Eric replied dryly, a grin spreading across his face just as he leaned into the next curve and began a sharp acceleration. In no time, he was zipping across the rink and laughing, hair whipping off his forehead. He clearly hadn't had a rink to himself in a long time.

"You really are speedy," Jack commented, circling leisurely around center ice just to watch Eric skate.

"I always skated circles around all the big fellas!" Eric called out cheerfully, skidding to a stop in front of Jack. "Folks think I'm fast 'cause I'm small, but I think a lot of it comes from the figure skating."

"I believe that. You gotta be moving pretty fast to go into those jumps, right?" Jack asked.

"Goodness, yes! Spins, too! I'd show you something if I'd thought to bring my figure skates," Eric said, letting out a forlorn little sigh.

"Next time, eh?" Jack told him with a smile. "For now...how about a race?" The suggestion was worth making just for the delighted look on Eric's face.

"Oh, so you heard me say that I outskated all those giant hockey players and took it as a challenge?" Eric teased, smirking.

"Well, you just seemed so confident, I figured I'd give you a chance to prove yourself," Jack replied innocently.

"We haven't got anyone to judge."

"That's ok, I trust you not to cheat." Jack laughed when that earned him a smack to the chest. The chirps just came to him so easily, he couldn't help himself.

"Alright, Mr. Zimmermann, I'll humor you," Eric said demurely, skidding to a halt beside Jack.

"Oh, you will, eh?" Jack grinned.

"I will indeed. What are the rules to this race?"

"Oh. Euh..." Jack hummed thoughtfully. He wouldn't want to make the race too difficult for Eric, but underestimating him wouldn't work either. "How about five laps? Start and finish is the center line?"

"Five laps it is," Eric agreed, a confident grin on his face.

They lined up, the both of them grinning, and Jack counted down from three. Just like that, they were off. Jack's eyebrows shot up at how quickly Eric sped past him and he hurried to pick up the pace. He didn't think he'd raced like this since he was a kid and he was surprised by how easy it was to get caught up in the rush of the moment. With a few powerful strides, he caught up to Eric as he rounded the curve, winking as he glided past.

"Oh no you don't, mister," Eric muttered, already hot on Jack's trail. For the next few laps, Jack held his lead while Eric tailed close behind. It was kind of exhilarating, skating at top speed and barreling around the rink. And really, Eric was a great skater; he didn't let Jack relax his lead for a second. It wasn't until the last lap that Eric put on a sudden burst of speed, zipping past Jack on the last corner.

"What?!" Jack exclaimed, laughing as he crossed the center line for the last time—after Eric. "You tricked me," he accused, panting and grinning as he skidded to a stop.

"I did no such thing—everyone knows you save your top speed for the final lap," Eric protested, laughing right alongside Jack and letting out a yelp when his hard stop sprayed him with ice. "Why you—! Ugh!" Eric was trying very hard to look disapproving, but he was smiling too much for it to be effective. He went to lean against the boards with a heavy sigh, grinning while he caught his breath. "Phew. Goodness. I haven't done something like that in ages."

"Me neither," Jack admitted with a chuckle, gliding over to join Eric, and gave him a light hip-check. Or, he thought it was light.

"Oh!" Eric gasped, gripping Jack's arm as he nearly toppled over.

"Ah—sorry! You're so light—I didn't mean—"

"No, no, it's alright—I just wasn't expecting..."

Jack blinked, realizing he had one hand on Eric's waist and the other on his shoulder. He must have grabbed hold of him to help keep him upright. They were suddenly very close, weren't they? "Sorry," he said again, pulling his hands back apologetically.

"Really, it's fine," Eric assured him, chuckling as he added, "that was probably the lightest check I've ever gotten, so now you really know how rusty I've gotten."

"But not so rusty that you couldn't beat a pro NHL player in a race," Jack noted, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Yes, well," Eric mumbled sheepishly, unable to hide the pleased expression on his face, "we all have our strengths, don't we?"

Jack grinned, giving Eric another nudge—just a bump with his elbow this time—and pushed off from the boards to take another lap. It was only a few seconds later that he heard the scrape of Eric's skates on the ice behind him. He was vaguely relieved—not that he really thought Eric had been so offended, but...ok, the possibility of it had lingered in his brain a little.

Now that they'd gotten the competitiveness out of their systems, they were both pretty content to just do their own things. Eric seemed to be trying to figure out how much he remembered, while Jack was just sort of doing laps. Jack didn't want to do anything too strenuous, since he'd already trained this morning. It was kind of weird to skate around so aimlessly, without really trying to do anything. He wasn't entirely comfortable with that. That was how he felt about most activities that weren't technically productive. It was why he'd been reluctant to do this competition; and why Papa had encouraged him so strongly to try it. Something 'fun and meaningless' to help him learn to be more laidback, right? He let out a slow breath and glanced over his shoulder at Eric, who was practicing crossovers and grinning.

...right.

"You've got that look on your face again," Eric called out as he zipped past.

Jack blinked, losing his train of thought, and smiled despite himself. "What look is that?" he called back, bemused.

"Your 'I'm thinking too hard' look," Eric answered once he'd finished his circuit, settling into a more relaxed pace alongside Jack. "What were you thinking so hard about this time?"

"Oh—euh—just...glad that I suggested this now, you know. Before we'll both be busy with the competition and then, well...you'll be back in Boston, I guess?"

"Oh! I mean, yes," Eric stuttered, surprised. "Goodness. That's what you were thinking so hard about? Me?"

Jack didn't expect Eric to be quite so flustered. Was it that weird for him to hint at the idea of them hanging out after the competition was over? Maybe? Oh God. "...euh, sorry—" he started to say.

"No—oh honey, no, it's fine! It's just...well, it's silly. _I'm_ silly," Eric quickly interrupted him with a laugh, ruffling the back of his hair sheepishly. "I mean, the way we met was so strange and...unnatural...but, you know, we've been in that kitchen for so many hours every day, and we talk and get to know each other a little, right? So I keep feeling like we've become friends, and then I get nervous that you're just being polite, and I've been a fan of yours for ages so obviously that makes things complicated, but you've been so much fun to teach, and skating with you like this is just—it's so amazing, Jack, you have no idea—and like I said, I feel like we've become friends, and...we have, haven't we?"

Jack slowed to a stop, brow furrowed in concentration while Eric talked a hundred words a minute at him. It happened all the time but he still had no idea how to take in that much information that quickly. Then the question Eric was asking him finally sank in. "Oh! Yes!" he said quickly, realizing he'd been silent too long. "Yes—I mean, I hoped that too. That we're friends." A grin spread slowly across his face.

"Oh, thank goodness," Eric sighed, starting to grin as well.

"Feels kinda anticlimactic now, eh?" Jack teased.

"I think I was dramatic enough to make up for it," Eric replied with a laugh.

After that, they were both notably more relaxed. Jack hadn't realized just how thick the tension between them had been until they'd finally relieved it. Aimlessly skating didn't feel so weird now; it really felt like they were skating with each other instead of just on the same ice. And spending time with Eric...his brain could manage to interpret that as a kind of productive. They kept going a little longer but it was getting late and Jack was going to need to run the Zamboni before they left. Eric insisted on staying until he'd finished.

"You really don't have to—it'll take a while, and the machine'll be too loud for us to chat or anything. You'll be really bored," he told Eric while they changed out of their skates.

"I don't mind! It just feels so rude to leave you alone with all the clean-up. Besides, I've had to close up a rink before. It always feels better to turn the lights off with a friend."

Jack found it hard to argue with that. Although he did feel a little guilty every time he glanced up from working the Zamboni to see Eric sitting on the bench with his nose buried in his phone. At least he had a way to entertain himself. And by the time Jack finished up, Eric smiled up at him as cheerfully as ever, completely unfazed. Ok, maybe he was glad Eric had decided to stay.

"Had fun?" Jack asked, starting to turn off lights.

"Oh my Lord, yes! This was wonderful! Thank you!" Eric exclaimed, flushed and beaming.

"Haha. Good. I'm glad." Jack was feeling a little flushed himself; and despite how cold this building always was, Eric seemed to radiate heat by his side. Well, they'd both been skating, after all.

Far too soon, they were standing by their cars, lingering. Jack couldn't help but feel like he should say something, but he didn't know what. For once, Eric appeared to feel the same way. Now it was just getting awkward...

"Eum...thanks for coming with me," Jack murmured, managing a small smile.

"Oh, honey! I was happy to! It was a great idea. Ask me again whenever you want," Eric replied slyly, grinning.

"Haha. I just might. So, uh...I'll see you tomorrow, eh?"

"You certainly will!"

...marde, they'd just said goodbye, why were they still standing there like idiots? Jack fought back a blush and rubbed the back of his neck, wishing he knew how to get himself out of these kinds of situations more gracefully.

"I...yeah...right, I'll see you," he fumbled lamely, going hot all over as he went to practically throw himself into his car. Crisse. What would his life be like if he'd inherited even one ounce of charisma from Papa or Maman? He started the car and huffed a soft laugh when he turned his head to see Eric smiling and waving at him from his truck. Slightly reassured, but still blushing, he waved back.

Dieu merci that Eric was always so nice and easy-going, no matter how much Jack embarrassed himself—and he'd managed that frequently in the past two weeks. But embarrassing himself didn't feel so awful in front of Eric. Actually, he kind of liked the way it made Eric smile at him. It was a special smile. Different. Not one of his big, bright, sunny smiles; it was a tiny, glowing one that somehow seemed warmer than the others. Just thinking about it made his heart beat a little too fast and his stomach twist itself in knots. It was nerve-wracking. So why was he smiling?

It was only when Jack finally moved to shift the car into reverse that the penny dropped. He stopped, frozen with his hand on the gear shift and his foot on the brake, understanding and struggling to comprehend all at once. He shifted back into park with a groan and clunked his forehead onto the steering wheel.

... _friends_.

Jack sighed deeply, rubbing one hand roughly over his face. One step forward, two steps back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eric's a talker, Jack's a thinker. It made the feeling of writing these chapters way more different than I expected but there was something appealing to me about getting Jack's perspective on this scenario. It was also really fun to play with the whole "oblivious to feelings ---> OH I LIKE THIS BOY" realizations for both of them in their own time, which gives us some fun cyclical storytelling (just like Ngzoi oooh~)!! Jack, of course, is much more oblivious to these feelings because he is a very focused, determined boy with no time for fun. ;P


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I apologized for a delay last time...and here I am, apologizing again. Whoops. Really for real, though, I actually have this whole story planned out. I'm just trying really hard for it to be not terrible (this is according to my own standards so...urgh). Also...life things. They happen.
> 
> This chapter is also a touch on the short side compared to the first two, but I really didn't want to force it by dragging it out or distracting from it by making it a part of other events of the story. With any luck, the next chapter will not take several months!!
> 
> Please enjoy. (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

It was getting harder and harder for Eric to ignore just how much he looked forward to seeing Jack every day. He hadn't anticipated just how much time they would really be spending together, though in retrospect that was utterly silly. He ought to have known better. Several hours a day in a kitchen with a devastatingly handsome hockey player? Seven days a week? It was a wonder he hadn't spontaneously combusted.

The last thing Eric expected was for Jack to start enjoying himself too. He'd hoped he would, of course! It was just that Jack had quite the reputation for being...standoffish. Though he wasn't sure that was the word he would have chosen to describe Jack. Quiet, definitely. Reserved, sure. Alright, he was a little tense, but he'd been no less than polite from the moment they'd met. And at first Eric had figured that was probably the best he could hope for: polite. Jack Zimmermann obviously didn't have any real interest in baking. It was a good PR opportunity. Something to do in the off season.

Except, little by little, Jack opened up. He seemed less high-strung. He stopped worrying so much and started to smile. He was still quiet, but maybe that was just how he was. Even when they'd gone skating, Jack hadn't seemed to have much to say, but he'd certainly been more confident and self-assured, lit up and smiling in a way like Eric had never seen before. Lord, but that boy was gorgeous on the ice. Eric still wasn't convinced that he hadn't dreamed up everything. Wasn't it enough just to meet Jack Zimmermann, let alone teach him some baking? Surely going skating with him _and_ beating him in a race was the stuff of sheer fantasy. He was pretty sure Jack had let him win that race anyway...

Not to mention that, wow, they really had become honest-to-goodness friends. That was the most surreal of all. They'd only hung out together just the once but saying it out loud to each other seemed to change their whole dynamic. Jack was more relaxed in the kitchen, smiling and laying on the chirps. Eric's texts were becoming more frequent and he was no longer restraining himself from plastering them with emojis. They talked about hockey mostly, and baking, and they'd gotten into a very fun conversation about cameras once Eric had learned about Jack's photography hobby.

"Well, Mr. Zimmermann, the next time I'm thinking of upgrading my vlog cameras, I will certainly come to you for advice first," Eric declared as he watched Jack struggle with his attempt at a Swiss roll. "Who knew a hockey player could know so much about lenses?"

"I don't know that much about video cameras, though," Jack replied with a huff of a laugh, brow furrowed in concentration, "and you're one to talk, eh? Who knew a baker could know so much about hockey?"

"Excuse you, Mr. Zimmermann, I was an NCAA athlete, I should think I ought to know a thing or two!"

"Ouais, ouais, désolé. Mais tout le monde peut pas être si talentueux que toi,” Jack said, looking up from his cake with a glint in his eye. Eric just blinked, uncomprehending and unimpressed. He had learned by now that when Jack slipped back into French, it either meant he was cursing or chirping.

"How do you say, 'there's a crack in my Swiss roll,' in French?" Eric asked coolly, raising an eyebrow. He bit back a laugh as Jack swore under his breath–in French, of course–and scowled. "Oh honey, it's fine. You probably won't be asked to make it in the competition, I just thought it would be a fun challenge for you."

"A fun challenge," Jack repeated, deadpan.

"What, you aren't having fun?" Eric asked innocently.

"Ha. Well, not because of the cake." Jack’s ears went pink as soon as the words had come out of his mouth.

"Oh," Eric said, fighting hard to keep back a blush of his own. Darn this man for being so adorable and charming! _Jack is straight_ , he told himself firmly. This was absolutely not flirting. No sir. It was just...banter between friends. Banter that Eric was failing miserably to contribute to. Thank goodness the cameras weren't on today.

"Well," he said quickly, trying to defuse the awkward silence that had fallen between them, "I find most activities are more enjoyable with some good company, don't you? Oh, this reminds me, I just bet you and your mother would have the most wonderful time making those butter tarts I told you about, they'd be such a perfect holiday treat, I'll have to make sure I test some recipes for you..."

Off he went, rambling as usual, and thankfully Jack never seemed to mind. Actually, Eric always thought Jack looked sort of relieved to not have to carry the conversation, which he found adorable. Except this time Jack's expression seemed concerned, which just had Eric rattling off tips and tricks about Canadian baked goods faster than ever.

“I mean, really, at the end of the day they’re basically mini pecan pies, aren’t they, and those are so easy to – ”

"Bitty," Jack interrupted, soft and gentle, bringing Eric to an immediate halt. "Euh, you know that this isn't like...your last chance to tell me these things, right? I mean, I know we've only got a few days left before the competition starts..."

Good Lord, was it only a few more days?

"...but you can still tell me things I'll never remember about baking after that, if you want."

Eric took a moment to let that sink in. Was that what Jack thought? That he'd been going on like a loon just now so he could squeeze in some last moments together? His heart fluttered. This sweet boy.

Wait a second...

"Excuse me, Jack Zimmermann, but so help me God you will remember a thing or two about baking by the time I'm done with you!"

"Oh, like the thing or two you remember about hockey?"

"And remind me who beat whom in a race just recently?"

"You're smaller, of course you're faster. That doesn't necessarily mean anything in a game."

"Tell that to Quinnipiac in the NCAA finals last year," Eric replied with a smirk. This was feeling a lot like flirting again but the grin on Jack's face was worth it.

There was another beat of silence between them, and Eric wished he’d thought of something more to say because Jack was starting to look troubled again.

“…Jack?”

"Eum–sorry–I mean, it's just...I know you don't talk about it? Playing hockey, I mean. Or, I guess...that you don't play, anymore." Jack wasn't looking at him now, pretending to be very focused on poking at the crack in his Swiss roll. "You were really good. You...you could have kept playing. If you wanted."

A whole heap of confusing emotions swelled in Eric's chest. He understood what Jack was saying–and what Jack was asking, without asking. It was sweet, in his own way. He took a breath and opened his mouth to answer, then released it without having any clue what he really wanted to say.

"I miss hockey a lot," Eric finally admitted, his voice coming out softer than he'd expected. "I do. But I never planned to play professionally, Jack. I mean, I truly didn’t think I was good enough anyway, but also...well, I know the kind of pressure that's put on professional athletes. I think a part of me knew that I never wanted to go through that kind of thing again."

"...again?" Jack asked, finally looking up.

"Not hockey, obviously," Eric replied with a huff of a laugh, waving his hand dismissively, "but I was a competitive figure skater before I played hockey. If my coach’d had her way, I'd have skated in the Olympics eventually."

"Oh–that's right. I, euh, heard that somewhere. The figure skating." Jack paused, clearly wanting to say something more, but it was a long moment before he finally spoke again. "You have to be pretty young, in figure skating," Jack said quietly, and in that one sentence it was like a floodgate of understanding had opened between them.

"Yeah," Eric agreed, managing a tiny smile. "I loved it. But...yeah."

Before he knew it, Jack was reaching to give his shoulder a warm squeeze. A small gesture, but a comforting one. A hard lump rose in his throat. A part of him hated that Jack understood so completely–because that meant he'd felt it too. Probably still did. And suddenly a lot of things about Jack and all his idiosyncrasies were starting to click.

"Do you still...love hockey? Even with...all that?" Eric asked tentatively, his curiosity too strong.

"Yes," Jack replied immediately, followed by maybe the most genuine and bittersweet smile Eric had ever seen. "I love it. Being out on the ice...playing the game...that's the one time I know exactly what I'm doing. That feeling makes it worth it for me. Most days, anyway." He shrugged helplessly.

"Well, but I guess everyone has some doubt, don't they? Goodness, I mean, look at me! I question every day how on earth I actually make a living from the internet alone."

"I honestly don't think I know what your job actually is," Jack confessed with a chuckle, leaning against the counter beside Eric and giving him a light nudge with his elbow.

"Ha! Well, you know a little. It involves baking," Eric told him with a wink.

“Does it?” Jack asked, completely straight-faced. He looked far too pleased at how hard that made Eric laugh.

With that, they both seemed to feel that this particular conversation had reached its natural conclusion. Eric sighed and stretched, planting his hands on his hips. "Alright, Mr. Zimmermann," he said decisively, "I think we ought to call it a day and just go ahead and eat this delicious Swiss roll of yours."

"You don't know that it'll be delicious," Jack replied, quick and smart as a whip, eyes gleaming.

"I certainly do, since I taught you how to make it."

"Ah, and so with your guidance, it's impossible to make something that isn't delicious," Jack teased, swiping up a bit of frosting on his fingertip and tapping Eric's nose.

"Ah! Why you–! That is not an appropriate use of buttercream!" Eric exclaimed, scrunching up his nose.

"No? I think it suits you.”

“Oh, _really_ now! And how do you figure that?”

“You’re both sweet.” Jack blushed, ducking his head. "Eum...the cameras aren't here today, right?"

Eric blinked, puzzled, still scrubbing his nose with the corner of his apron. Really, he was still reeling a little from hearing Jack call him sweet. "No, not today. Why?" he asked curiously.

"Ah. Well." Jack hesitated, but then he was leaning down to cup Eric's cheek and just like that he brushed the softest, briefest kiss to his mouth.

Eric's eyes went wide and all he could do was stare for the longest moment. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it up to his ears and his palms felt cold and damp. His face was burning hot, though. Was this real…? It had happened so fast, maybe he’d imagined it? It was taking Eric’s brain way too long to get with the program here. No, Jack’s hand was still on his cheek, large and warm and shaking. His eyes looked nearly as wide as Eric’s, tinged with a mix of hope and fear. It was almost funny. All this time, Eric had been terrified that he would let something of his silly little crush slip out and make Jack feel uncomfortable–or worse…

…and here it turned out that Jack had been just as afraid.

Jack’s hand started to pull away and Eric realized that he needed to snap out of it. He could not afford to let this chance slip away all because he was acting like a deer in headlights. He placed one hand firmly on Jack’s arm and leaned up straight into another kiss.

In his rush, it was a touch bolder than he’d intended. But maybe that was a good thing. He felt Jack relax against him almost instantly, the tension between them draining away. Another kiss followed that one. And another. Nothing too intense or lingering, but they just couldn’t quite bring themselves to stop coming back for more. It was impossibly easy. They were standing so close and Jack was so warm. Jack's hands landed on his hips, and his hands rested like a dream on Jack's chest. Why on earth had this seemed so unbelievable…?

"I thought you were straight!" Eric exclaimed suddenly, pulling back sharply to look up at Jack in astonishment and giving him a smack on the chest.

"Oh," Jack said, startled by the abrupt change and starting to laugh. "Sorry–ah–I'm not exactly out," he said apologetically, sheepishly ruffling his hand through his hair. "And I didn't exactly...expect for this to happen?"

"You didn't expect to kiss me in the kitchen today?" Eric asked, quirking a skeptical eyebrow.

"Ah–well, yes. But I meant…I didn't expect to like you so much," Jack mumbled, blushing. And, well, how sweet was that?

Eric took a slow, deep breath, absently brushing a stray dusting of flour off Jack’s shoulder. This boy. This crazy, wonderful boy. His exhale was a fond, exasperated sigh. In three days, they would be on national television together. Hockey season would start up again in another two months or so. Jack wasn’t out. Eric just had so many questions. Things were about to get very complicated; but somehow, at this particular moment, he didn’t have a single regret about that.

“We’ve got some things to talk about, haven’t we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack is a dork, Eric is oblivious, and I love them both so much.
> 
> In case you were worried that I would stop using this story as an excuse to write adorable flirting... ¯\\_( ◉ 3 ◉ )_/¯
> 
> I feel like now perhaps it makes sense why I wanted to isolate this moment? It's kinda important! They've been getting to know each other and connecting, and they're starting to trust each other in small ways. Yay!
> 
> For those who don't speak French: "Yeah, yeah, sorry. But not everyone can be as talented as you."
> 
> Thanks again for your patience. I'll see you in the next chapter. ( ˘ ³˘)❤


End file.
